Tomorrow morning at the crack, I leave for the adventure of a lifetime. Along with seven other photographers, I will be studying wildlife photography for a week in Yellowstone National Park with Tom Murphy.
My chances of getting to do this were beyond slim. First, because after doing these tours for the last 19 years, the famous wildlife photographer is cutting back so he can take two National Geographic assignments and a trip to Africa. This is his last for the season and next winter he plans to do only a few charters. How I found him was absolute serendipity.
Last week, I wandered into a gift shop in Big Sky called A Horse of a Different Color and discovered Murphy’s two books: “Silence & Solitude, Yellowstone’s Winter Wilderness” and his new “The Light of Spring,” and was completely blown away by the images and the intelligent and informative captions. I bought both books and discovered Murphy lives in Livingston, Montana, just 45 minutes from Bozeman.
So my daughter, Betty, and I traipse down there Wednesday and wander into his office on the chance that we might catch him there. He was not only there, he graciously signed the books and answered questions for what I figured would be a short column about the snowmobile controversy in the park. After filling a few pages in my notebook, I asked if he still was doing the photo tours. “I just came back from one last week,” he said. “And I’m leaving for the last one on Sunday.”
The last one? This Sunday?
I suppose it’s all booked up, right?
“Well it was,” he said. “But one guy just canceled this morning because he has the flu.”
Talk about timing. I looked at Betty. She looked at me. “Would your sister kill me if I stayed another week?” I said. “Of course not,” she said. “I’ll talk to her.”
So for three days, I’ve shopped the ski and mountaineering stores, which fortunately have lots of winter gear on sale. Having flown to Bozeman this time, I left my good down jacket and all the bulky stuff at home.
So now I have Capilene expedition weight socks, mid-weight core performance long johns and tops, courtesy of Patagonia, Cloudveil Polartec Power Stretch pants, Sorel pack boots and new Gore-Tex and Cordura gaiters. Betty is lending me her ski jacket and wool gloves with flaps that expose your fingertips so you can actually work the camera.
Good grief. I could survive in the Arctic with all this stuff.
Of course, all my camera equipment was also left in California. But then the old Pentax, circa 1985, its longest lens a mere 200 mm, wouldn’t cut it for this trip anyway. So after a visit to the very best camera store I’ve ever seen, I’m now the owner of a very slightly used Nikon 8008S and its gently used bag, both of which were brought in on consignment that morning. More serendipity. And I rented a Tamron 200-400 zoom lens for it (rental may apply to purchase). Betty’s husband, who is in Canada, offered to loan me his 55 macro and 105 mm lenses, all of which fit nicely in the pre-owned bag. I probably should have sprung for the new backpack, but at $200 it was just a little less than the two boxes of Fuji Provia and Velvia 100 slide film I needed. After adding four rolls of Fuji 400 print film, a dandy little lens cleaner that looks like a pen and two lens cap minders (lest I drop one into a snow bank), my wallet is a great deal lighter but I’m a lot richer. Thank heavens Murphy has an extra tripod.
After I file this column, I’ll spend what’s left of the evening reading the Nikon manual (the original manual was still with the camera) and trying to remember everything the nice guy in the camera store told me about the long lens. Then I’m going to reread the forward to Murphy’s book and the technical information on the back page.
After that I may drift off, dreaming of elk, moose, wolves and eagles, roaming free in their own snowy wilderness.
How can I possibly wait till morning?